


Ashes

by k_mission



Series: Everything I've Written About Destiny Sort of in Order [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games), Destiny - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Doomed Relationship, M/M, Multi, angst no resolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-07-18 04:11:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16110530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_mission/pseuds/k_mission
Summary: A lone Lightbearer tries to remember what drives him, haunted by the ghosts of his past and dire visions of the future.





	1. If We Are a Memory

    For just a moment, the fusion core spluttered to life, illuminating the cave walls in a soft blue glow. It flickered. Pulsed brighter, brighter, brighter. Fizzled.

    He threw the spanner and heard it land with a clatter somewhere in the darkness at the edge of the chamber. Breathing deeply was a difficult trick for him, but he tried it. Anything to calm down before he threw the core right along after it. He set it down amongst the clutter of scavenged technology and tools, and looked over in the direction he’d just thrown the spanner, but made no move to retrieve it. Without a new plan, the chances of success were nominal.

    “Maybe that’s enough for tonight. You should… rest.” His Ghost’s voice was gentle, he felt her nudging him towards sleep through their bond. He shook his head. Rest accomplished nothing; his dreams were too fraught to sleep.

    Without a word, he got up and walked deeper into the shadows at the back of the cave. All the medical equipment he’d ever managed to recover and repair filled the cavern. And all of it useless, save for some monitors and a cryo-cell.

    He stood beside the cell and stared down at it. Beneath the frosted glass he could make out a slim figure. The temptation to open it and truly see swelled in him, but it was a risk he couldn’t take. He wasn’t ready for the thaw.

    “It’s getting hard to remember,” he said, his voice raspy and weak.

    He removed his gauntlets and placed his hand on top of the cell. Deep within he could still sense the light and dark at war with each other, but nothing else. Only the monitors told him there was a life caught up in the struggle. He wondered if Arriel was dreaming--if there enough left of him to dream. He wondered if through all these years, he’d spoken his words to an empty shell; if he kept failing to wake him because there was nothing left to wake; if he had left him trapped for centuries in this nebulous place between life and death, light and dark.  
    If all he knew now were endless nightmares.  
    If it would have been better to let him die.

    The only mercy he could imagine was if he felt nothing, knew nothing, floated free from the horrors they’d both wrought. That the Light had embraced him seemed too much to hope.

    Slowly, he sank down with his back to the cryo-cell. He brought his bare hand up in front of his helmet, turned it over slowly as he examined the scarring. What debts were still left to pay? His own scores were hardly settled, and shouldering Arriel’s as well more than doubled the weight he had to carry. So many times that he’d lost count, he’d told himself it was necessary. Worth it, even.

    He no longer told himself anything--he just moved, hoping he’d found a way forward.

    Time had begun to lose meaning. He didn’t know how much of it passed as he sat there, watching the shadows dance. Or how much more of it he lost roaming through his own thoughts, trying desperately to remember the sound of a laugh, the curve of a smile, the electricity of fingers on his skin. It took him down to the floor in increments, until he was laying on his back, helmet finally discarded, trying to see into each crevice of the ceiling with his own eyes.  
     
    In the shadows he saw a figure he could not name. He knew that it spoke, but he did not understand. It left him unsettled, an omen of the next hardship, a threat for which he was ill prepared. But all of his long life, he had never been ready, never really understood if this was a gift or a madness, and regardless he still stood, still fought, still saw another dawn.

    “The garden on Venus. You found roses in the ruins.” That sounded true, but he didn’t know if it was. He rolled onto his side and placed his hand against the base of the cryo-cell, ignoring how cold and smooth it was against his palm. It was solid; that was all that mattered.

    “I remember…” Fleeting images. He fought to make them something coherent.

    “I remember.” It started to taste like a lie.

    His hand pressed more firmly against the cell. He closed his eyes. The roses. Deep blue hair sliding between his fingers and his hand still unscarred. Fires. Glowing silver eyes. Gunshots. Breath against his neck. Bodies, so many dead. A voice that whispered his name but somehow he did not know the sound of it.

    “Give me something,” he rasped, not knowing if the words were for the silent presence before or above him. “Please. Give me something.”  
  
    _Let me help_. His Ghost’s offer was gentle. He knew what she could do for him; the projections were hollow and cold. Her view, her memories. He needed something more than that. But to even just see him again…

    “Not yet,” he said. Or tried to--his damaged voice had given out. She understood, sent him her comfort through their bond. Without her, he didn’t know where he’d be.

    He dove again, into the deepest parts of his memories, probing against the locks.

_A misty rain against his cheeks. Wet grass under his feet, dirt starting to slide between his toes. Without his armor on he felt weightless and strange. The scent of smoke came from somewhere in the distance but he did not turn to find it. Soft footsteps behind him; he knew them and didn’t need to look. Here he was safe--they were safe._

_Arriel’s chin dug into his shoulder and the weight was a comfort. He felt his chest against his back, his hand on his stomach. “You’re up early. Did you sleep?”_

_Did you sleep? Did you sleep? Did you sleep?_

_You’re up early._

_Did you--_

    Every time he replayed it in his mind, he thought he got closer to really hearing his voice. But when he focused, tried to really catch it, it slipped from him and became a vague recollection of words that might never have been spoken. He chased it through soft mornings and battlefields, promises and arguments, until he got lost somewhere in tangle of his thoughts and exhaustion finally caught up to him.

    He dreamt of a ring of stones and yellow sands. Night and day cycled rapidly. When he tried to move, each step he took spanned months. The wind on his face scorched him, but the air in his lungs was freezing.     There was something in the center of the ring he both needed and feared to reach.

    The ground gave out. He fell into the earth until he was a ghost at its core. There he saw a shadowy figure, eyes glowing silver, hidden in the dark but light shimmering over his skin.

    “I remember,” the man said, his voice full of accusation.

    He woke gasping, his struggle for breath was the only sound in the room aside from the gentle beeping. His hand was still resting on the base of the cryo-cell.

    _I remember._

 

   


	2. When the Night Was Full of Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewinding to the choice that had to be made; the night that cost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Talvaris = Ash; there are some things that make you need to change your name and this is part of one  
> Collecting things about the same two characters into one chaptered work. There's not much of a plan here, folks, but maybe it'll kinda make sense.]

_A few hundred years earlier..._

Talvaris’s feet scrambled for traction on the on the slick stone floors. He hit a puddle taking a tight turn and nearly lost his balance, hand slamming onto the ground to avoid falling. He didn’t want to look down, tried to ignore the red streaks left behind as he pushed the door open. From behind him, the inhuman howls sounded again, so much closer now--so much louder. He slammed the door shut behind him, shoulder pressed to it and ready to brace against any attempt at intrusion as he checked the locks.

He closed his eyes, took a breath. This was what it all came down to. One last chance.  
One hope to undo the damage.

He turned and put his back to the door, looking across to the far side of the hall. Tables and chairs lay overturned and broken, Melkarik’s banners still hung--crooked and torn. And scattered in between… 

Talvaris took another steadying breath. Lights flickered under the door at the other end of the room. He could hear a faint chanting, and the Darkness within sang in answer. It was hungry; it would no longer be denied. 

It was time.

When he moved it was with purpose, ignoring anything underfoot. Guilt and grief could come later. Now was the fight. And though his mind balked, his body didn’t hesitate, raising his weapon to blast through the door.

The debris preceded him, colliding with the carefully placed bones, interfering with meticulous runes. For a moment, one merciful moment, everything was still. 

Arriel lowered his arms, turning to face him. Even through the mask, Talvaris could sense his anger, feel the glare. 

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Arriel hissed at him.

“I haven’t done it yet.” 

But he was reaching for the Light, pushing past the Dark stains for as much as he could grasp. 

“No, no, no!” Arriel was shouting at him as he lunged. It didn’t matter now. He held his gaze steady on him for as long as he dared.

“This is to save us.”

He slammed his fist down through the ahamkara skull. The Light and Darkness seared in his veins until all he could comprehend was that he was being torn apart. 

Then there was nothing. 

Different from the death space where his dreams got so loud they overpowered him, here there was only an empty whiteness and he floated in it. Even thoughts were distant, a faint awareness. Maybe this was the death beyond death, where there was no waking up. At last.

The sound started quiet. A buzz that grew into an incessant droning so loud it echoed off the insides of his skull. He tried to move his hand--he had hands again--to cover his ears. Movement returned him to his body, and it was not longer just flesh and bone, it was live wires of pain. 

He closed his eyes again and tried to let go. To drift back into that soft, quiet place. Or to surrender to the inbetween, handing over this life to wait for his Ghost, if she could find him again. But there was only darkness. 

_Arri._

He forced his eyes open, tried to focus through the haze. Flecks swam across his vision and the room swayed. The arm pinned beneath him radiated pain, white-hot and sharp. 

Talvaris gathered as much of his strength as he could and heaved himself over onto his back. Something immediately felt wrong, like warm water pouring down his throat. He tried to breathe and choked on it. As soon as his spit it up, more took its place.

Desperate for air, he scrambled back onto his side, not remembering until he felt a new wave of agony why it was he’d tried to move in the first place. The cry of pain caught and gurgled in his throat as he tried to summon one last surge of movement and rolled onto his stomach. 

As he coughed and gasped for breath, his unfocused eyes landed on his hand. He tried to blink away the fog as he stared at it. It was red and raw, slicked in too much blood to see the damage fully. 

_Arri. No no no no nonono._

His mouth moved but the words wouldn’t form. 

_Arri please no no no Arriel please._

He bent one leg up and pushed, reached his less damaged arm forward and pulled. His body moved inch by inch across the floor. The blanks filled in and the picture formed as he struggled across the room--bits of debris, fragments of bone, smoke hanging in the air. All this destruction, this explosion, was his fault. But if he hadn’t… 

The world had seemed much more valuable moments before; his course of action so clear.  
But now, faced with the cost of it, all he had were doubts. 

His fingers fumbled into something silky. He found the strength to raise his head.

Arriel lay in a heap on the floor, hair fanned out around his head. Crawling the rest of the way to him took an eternity. As soon as he could reach, Talvaris pulled the mask free, fumbled for a pulse. He felt it, wavering beneath his fingers. Faint and unsteady, a flame flickering dangerously in the breeze. 

He tried again to speak, to summon some kind of comfort or plea, but whatever damage had been done left him silent. Talvaris closed his eyes and lowered himself fully to the floor, forehead resting against Arriel’s and his fingers still over his pulse. His pain was growing distant again, and underneath the relief and ache for release he recognized the danger. If he couldn’t stay awake, how would he find help? He could die, and hope his Ghost would find him, but Arriel… 

_Come on, Nami. Help me. Help us. I can’t hold on._

Something in him felt as though she heard him, but maybe it was just a trick of the mind, trying to ease him back into the safety of oblivion. 

He couldn’t hold on.


	3. Search Low in the Dark

The darkness cleared to the edges of his vision. He knew immediately that he wasn’t alone; he could feel skin beneath his fingers growing cold, could hear breathing that was both shallow and laboured.

Talvaris tried to raise his head. Felt like trying to shift a thousand pounds of razor-sharp knives with the inside of his skull. Instead, he gingerly rolled onto his back. This time, he could still breathe. Burned like fire, but he could do it.

He stared up through the blast hole in the ceiling to the stars above. Dusk had just been settling when he’d entered the hall. How long had they been there? Hours? Days?

How much longer could they wait?

He turned his head to look at Arriel. In the the darkness of the room, the light shimmering on his skin illuminated little. Talvaris was certain it had been brighter before; never really enough to see by in the deepest hours of the night, but the glow now was feeble.

_He’s dying._

The thought came to him so clearly. His gut tried to lace it with panic, with fear. It lurked somewhere in his chest but all he felt was clarity. Arriel was dying and he was too broken to do anything about it. They needed help--they needed some way to ask for it.

He shifted to look at his right hand. Where his comms device had been was now a hole in his armor, a mass of clots and damage.

He struggled back onto his side, using his good hand to feel along Arriel’s arms. The robes he was wearing were silky and fine. Easy to feel a comms unit strapped to his forearm through them.

Trying to work the device was like trying to work with drunken, frostbitten fingers. And when it finally clicked on, all he could do was gargle and gasp. He sent a message back to the ship anyways, a blind hope Nami would be there, understand that the static and the strained attempts to form any kind of message were meant for her. The odds were too long for what he was gambling. _  
_

He hesitated and flipped the frequency as best he could to an open channel. An SOS call was dangerous. Much more likely they’d be found by people who wanted them dead.

But they were dead already.  
He sent the call.

His head and hand fell heavily back to the floor; the flecks at the edge of his vision threatened to overwhelm him. He was sinking again. He dragged his hand along the floor until it found Arriel’s, trying to hold onto what was real, what was solid.

_If you can feel me, stay with me._

It wasn’t enough. There had to be something else.

The Darkness still gnawed at him, an oil slick of nausea and power. He extended a trembling thought towards it and felt the whispers, the promise. Strength. Dominance. Power. He remembered the feel of it, a current that could drown him, a maw ready to devour him whole. Come to me and I will save you, it said.

Come to me and you won’t need him anymore.

_No._

He closed his eyes, took as full a breath as he could to steady himself. When the Light came to him it burned. Coursing through his veins like cleansing fire, it drowned out the whispers of Darkness with a cry trapped in his throat. All he could do was hold fast to the one driving thought--save him. _What do I have to do to save him?_

His body arched and shuddered, he felt the scabs tear.  
He bled Light.

It pooled below him, blinding against the heaviness of the night. But it was soft, soothing. A balm to his wounds, while his insides howled to procure it. Arriel’s breath hitched, returned as a sigh. He battled to hear it, let the ins and outs guide the tide within. Rode the waves until he slipped under.

The moon was floating so close he could touch it. A dark shadow coiled around it, burrowed in deep, and the hole it left grew and grew and grew until there was only a pinpoint of light. It flickered, threatening to go out. From the shadows it cast, wolves emerged, snarling as they prowled. One of them lunged, tearing down Melkarik’s banner, and the rest crowded in to get a piece of the kill. One turned to face him, a wolf of pure white, as the others went up in wisps of smoke. It howled to the flickering light above until the light grew in answer, shaping itself this time not into the moon, but the Traveler, floating out of reach. A triangle of shifting blue appeared, and a bird that pecked at it until its nest overturned beneath it. The bird took to the sky, triangle clutched in its beak, a flock of golden mimics in tow. They dissolved into the first streaks of dawn.

Talvaris rolled his head to the side, eyes drifting over the rubble in the beginnings of daylight. The banners still hung, crooked and torn. He closed his eyes against the stillness of the room, fumbling towards the Light again, but lacked the strength to seize it.

_I’m sorry._

There was a gravely crunch from the corridor, but he didn’t attempt to look until he heard it a second time. A third. Footsteps through debris. No way to know if they meant help or danger. His hand weighed a hundred pounds as he coiled it around his gun and tried to pull it from his holster. Maybe he’d have one good shot.

He knew that armor, but he held the gun steady as he could.

Melkarik stopped in the doorway, his rifle lowered but ready.

The silent standoff stretch for a heartbeat. Two. Three.

“What the fuck did you do to yourself?” Melkarik’s helmet disappeared, he lowered the gun.

Talvaris stared up at him, the first rays of dawn catching on the fly away strands of his hair, glinting off his armor, and thought maybe for the last time how beautiful he was--would have said something embarrassing if he could speak. He just let the gun fall from his hand, instead.

“Is that--”

He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Melkarik approaching and the frantic words he murmured to Arriel.

“Hey, no, come on. You’re not going to do this, too.”

He felt his shoulder being shaken roughly. Talvaris tried to open his eyes but they were just… so… heavy...


End file.
